


The World's Second Consulting Detective

by irelandrain



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, i'm sorry i'm not capable of non-fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irelandrain/pseuds/irelandrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick drabble and my first foray into the world of Sherlock fandom. In short, Sherlock kills John's mojo. Can be read with or without Johnlock goggles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World's Second Consulting Detective

“Married.”

“Alright, you’ve made that one up, she’s not even wearing –”

“Reddish skin on the ring finger. Laser tattoo removal. Obviously skipped the ring in favor of a nuptial tattoo, which she now regrets enough to have it lasered off – nearing divorce, maybe, but at the moment still legally married.”

John just blinks at Sherlock, who folds his hands together under his chin and looks out across the bar, already bored with the subject. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“What? Doing what?” Sherlock replies vaguely, still gazing away intently, eyes flickering over every patron in the crowded pub.

John restrains a sigh. “Oh, I dunno, declaring the marital status and life failings of every woman that looks at this table?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Sherlock finally deigns to turn around and look at him again. “No, I am only ‘declaring the marital status and life failings’ of every woman who catches your eye so thoroughly that your mouth hangs open like a puppet’s in your staring.” 

“I have not – “

“Yes, you have. And I need you to focus on the case and not which trollop would allow you to buy her a drink before she refused your pathetic suggestion that the two of you ‘go back to her place.’”

John sucks in a deep breath, grinds his teeth together, and looks up at the ceiling, a tendon in his neck twitching. 

“Nothing to see up there, John, we’re looking for a criminal, not a leaky roof.” Sherlock makes the comment offhandedly and is back to scanning the crowd. He doesn’t register the lack of response until the doctor is shuffling out of the booth, wordless and fuming. “Prostitute,” he offers gravely, and John stops a few steps away from the table. Sherlock watches his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath before he turns around. 

“Sorry?”

“The woman you were about to go sit beside at the bar. She’s a prostitute.” Sherlock gives this piece of information with a disinterested shake of his head. 

“How can you tell?” John asks, then dives into a deeper voice without waiting for an answer. “‘Oh, simple, her hair is limp due to overwashing from all the times she showers in a day to remove the memory of her clients, not to mention her nylons are too edgy for ordinary wear, a woman with hair like that would never choose those kind of stockings without a good reason, and if that weren’t enough she keeps looking around anxiously as if searching for a client that hasn’t turned up. And based upon where your eyes have been for the last forty-five seconds combined with your propensity for those slightly worn-down types it was hardly a mystery as to where you were going.’ Oh, Sherlock, you’re brilliant, just brilliant!” John is out of breath by the time he finishes his imitation, glaring and huffing.

Sherlock doesn’t exactly make everything better when his face splits into a sideways smile.

“You’re smi – why are you smiling? Sherlock why are you smiling? You’ve solved the damn case, haven’t you, while I’m here –”

“Is that really what it sounds like to you when I’m deducing something?” the detective asks, grinning. “I mean, I guess it would, wouldn’t it?” He chuckles to himself. “All surprisingly passable deductions, John, but I was going with the fact that the gentleman who just left passed her ten 50 pound notes and… ah, yes, now she’s following. Not very discreet.” He wrinkles his nose delightedly. 

John stares at him, open-mouthed.

“Ah well,” Sherlock says, still chuckling a little. “Are you going to sit back down or have you decided to strike out on your own as the world’s second consulting detective?”

John swears to himself that it’s the promise of his unfinished meal that lures him back to the table.


End file.
